A Different World
by Flower in the Bloom
Summary: A One-Shot to show how two days would have gone for Hermione Granger in an abusive household. "The force of the blow sent me falling as before, only backwards this time. I heard my nose give a sickening crack, I knew it was broken. I breathed in deeply attempting to block out some of the pain." Rated T for language and abuse.


_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter_

People say that when summer begins, beauty shows in the world, more than it ever has. I try to believe them, I try to see the beauty in the world, but I can never seem to find it. It's as if it hides if I ever come close to finding it.

I never wanted my life to end up so sad, depressing, desperate for freedom, but it's what my life is. Stuck in a place that I don't call home. Stuck in a place that I call hell.

My home became hell the year I turned eight years old, the year my mother left my father. I didn't understand much then, just that my mother and father were not going to be living in the same house together, that my parents weren't in love anymore. This broke me, but I didn't know why.

The abuse started a year later. My father had won custody over me, surprisingly enough. He started drinking; he couldn't hold down a job, he never seemed to be around anymore. He just sat in his office, drinking, wallowing in his own despair, while I was left to look after the house and myself, as well as my father.

The first day he abused me, I remember distinctively. It was June 8, 1988. I was in the kitchen, fixing breakfast. My father had unexpectedly come out of his office. I heard him walking down the hall, drunkenly walking, but walking down the hall nonetheless.

My father came stumbling down the hall as I was fixing breakfast. It was a surprise because he hardly ever left his office, especially this early in the morning.

I heard him bumping into the walls as he cane towards the kitchen. As he opened the kitchen door my shoulders stiffened. I stood at the stove, working on the eggs, watching the bacon, cooking the bread.

I heard more than saw my father pull up a chair at the kitchen table. He sat down roughly and slurred out a few words from his mouth," When's breakfast ready?"

"Nearly done father," I replied, moving faster, hoping he wouldn't raise his voice at me.

"Well hurry up then," he said to me gruffly, "I don't have all day, and I'm hungry."

I nodded my head, hurrying up. As I finished I took out a plate and set eggs, bacon and bread on the plate, as well as some orange juice in a cup. As I turned to bring the food to father I tripped on a chair I didn't see that was behind me.

I tumbled to the floor, my father's food coming with me. As I impacted with the ground the plate shattered as well as the cups, sending its content all over the kitchen floor. I looked up at my father franticly. As I looked at him I was met with dark eyes, glaring at me, sending cold chills down my spine.

"You little shit," my father screamed. My breath caught in my throat, as he called me that atrocious word, "How dare you drop my breakfast." my father finished even louder.

I started to stand, although it was painful because of the shards of plate all over the floor.

As I finally got up on my own two feet, I didn't see the blow coming. I was too caught up in standing up and I didn't see my father's fist directed at my face until it impacted.

The force of the blow sent me falling as before, only backwards this time. I heard my nose give a sickening crack, I knew it was broken. I breathed in deeply attempting to block out some of the pain.

My father got up from his seat, walking towards me, breathing deeply, "That's what you get for spilling my food."

I stared up at him, waiting for another blow, which surprisingly did not come. He tumbled out the door into the hall and to his office, leaving me on the kitchen floor with a broken and bloody nose.

I took in a deep breath and pushed myself up off the floor, hissing silently as I felt a searing pain in my hands. When I finally got up on my feet I inspected my hands. There were little shards of glass from the plate and cup stuck in my hand. The shards weren't too deep, but they were deep enough to hurt.

I took in deep breaths, trying to block out the pain. I made my way towards the hall, making my way towards the bathroom, making sure my dad wasn't in the hall, but in his office.

I stepped through the door of the restroom, closing the door behind me. I walked up to the mirror, peering at my reflection. My untamable bushy hair even more bushy than ever, my brown eyes full of pain, my nose cascaded with dry blood, it was broken, there was no doubt about that. How my nose was going to heal was the question.

I looked away from my reflection, and stared down at my hands. My hands looked and felt as if they were throbbing, and they were. I opened a drawer carefully, trying not to pain my hands even more, taking out a pair of tweezers. I closed the drawer, walking over to the toilet, putting the lid down, and sat, grabbing a nearby towel and rolling it up into a ball, something to bit down on when I pulled the glass shards out of my hands.

I took the tweezers into my right hand, beginning on my left hand. I breathed in deeply, ready for the rush of pain I was about to endure, then I inserted the towel ball into my mouth. I looked over my left palm and chose to start at the edges of my hand.

I hooked on to a shard and pulled up swiftly, taking out the shard hissing in pain. The shard was covered in a little blood, I noticed I inspected it. I set in the trash can which was next to the toilet.

I continued the same. Pulling swiftly, hissing, biting down on the towel, disposing of the glass.

Soon I had finally taken out all the shards from my left hand. I cleaned it, and wrapped it using the towels in the bathroom.

I put the tweezers in my left hand, ready to start on my right. I took a few extra deep breaths before starting. I started around my palm again, choosing the smallest piece of glass, taking deep breaths between each pull, hiss, bite, and dispose. I finally reached the largest shard in my hand. I took a few deep breaths, and then pulled up quickly. The movement caused my world to spin, I had to hold on to the walls, so as to not fall down, and I let out a small moan, taking in raged deep breaths. I disposed of the glass and wrapped my hand in a towel.

I washed the tweezers, being careful as to not soak the cloth around my hand in the water. My hands were throbbing, the pain seemed unbearable. All I wanted to do was lie down and fall into a deep sleep, but I still had my nose to worry about.

I walked back towards the mirror and took a look at my nose. I looked closely, it looked broken, but it also looked as if it might not need much attention, as if it may heal itself. I decided to just clean around my nose, getting rid of the dry blood, dosing it in cold water.

I looked into the mirror and I almost looked back to normal, now that my nose didn't have blood on it. I turned off the lights in the restroom, heading towards my room, ready for a good night's sleep.

The next morning I woke up, surprisingly, without any pain. I sat up in bed and unwrapped my hands, ready to see how they looked, I almost screamed at what I saw. My hands were perfectly healed, not a mark on them. I ran to my mirror, and had a look at my nose, it looked as if had never been broken. "That's weird," I whispered. I contemplated what could have done this, it was almost as if it was by…. Magic. But magic wasn't real. Magic only existed in fairy tales, dreams, and fantasies. They only existed in books! But somehow, I was doubting that. And I never actually doubt myself.

I gave a huge sigh, my mind contemplating as I got dressed, and went down stairs to start breakfast. My father never came down stairs, so I brought the food up to his office.

I knocked on his door tentatively, and I said, "Father, your foods ready."

"Leave it outside Hermione," he said gruffly, tiredly, drunkenly. I almost dropped the plate and glass in surprise; he hasn't called me by my name in over a year. I put the plate and glass of orange juice on the floor, saying, "It's outside," then stepping away from the door, to the kitchen to eat my breakfast.

The day went by like any other, cooking, cleaning, washing clothes, a few slaps from my father, when he would come out of his office, and I didn't hear or see him, and I got in his way. Finally night came, time for bed. Time to sleep, and dream what I want to dream, do what I want to do.

As I got ready for bed, I couldn't help but think of the morning, when my nose and hands healed so miraculously. 'Was it really magic?' I thought. Or was it some weird happening. Like ghost's?

I got into bed, contemplating the idea of magic being real. My last thoughts before falling asleep were, 'What if magic is real, and I have more to live for than just this?'

_A/N: Thanks for reading. Please let me know what you thought. Keep in mind, that this is just a One-Shot. Please drop me a Review __. thanks_


End file.
